


Scotch and Fire

by Imboredshootthewall, mystrademydivision (jamesraoulsilva)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: And Of Course A Bit Of, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Slash, semi-established
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-04 16:39:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1786033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imboredshootthewall/pseuds/Imboredshootthewall, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamesraoulsilva/pseuds/mystrademydivision
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Mycroft Holmes and Greg Lestrade go from scotch to fire and, eventually, back to fire and scotch.</p><p>[Greg can barely suppress a sound escaping his lips as Mycroft finally touches him. He coughs to cover up and says, “I have a couple of days I can get off, yeah.”<br/>He sips before he, suddenly, grows suspicious. “Why, have you got any time off?”]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scotch and Fire

**Author's Note:**

> This sprung from an RP with the wonderful imboredshootthewall <3  
> It will be a multi-chaptered story.

Apologies, I was being nonsensical. –MH

                That’s unlike you –GL

Ha. I think Sherlock put something in the punch again. –MH

                Doesn’t he ever learn –GL

He’s a hopeless case. That’s why I don’t invite you to our Christmas dinners. Dr. Watson seems to be suffering a lot during them. –MH

                Well, I’d rather suffer together with you than have to spend Christmas on my own, or worse, at the Yard –GL

Are you saying you want to come this Christmas? You know Sherlock’s going to be there and he certainly won’t shut up about the two of us –MH

                Doesn’t he know… about us? –GL

I suppose he does. However,it will be different if he actually sees us at Christmas dinner. Where he will be extremely bored and annoyed. –MH

                Yeah but Mycroft… I’d love to spend Christmas with you. I DO want to be part of your life, if you hadn’t figured that out yet –GL

That, actually, is greatly appreciated. Well then, will you come over next week? Sherlock is throwing his doctor a surprise birthday party and I will have to be there to make sure he doesn’t kill him. And maybe have some cake. –MH

You, cake, I’m in –GL

See you then. Or maybe sooner. Want to have a drink by the fireplace? –MH

I’d love to. I’ll be over in twenty? If that works? –GL

Yes. That will do. –MH

Scotch? -GL

Of course. –MH

Bloody genius –GL

The best kind, naturally. –MH

Remind me that I properly snog you when I get there –GL

Gladly. Are you nearly here? –MH

The doorbell rings. Mycroft had been waiting in the hallway already and he straightens his jacket before opening the door.

Greg is outside, staring at his feet, with his hands buried in the pockets of his coat. He looks up with a smile when Mycroft opens the door. “Uh, can I come in?” He smile turns slightly insecure when he sees Mycroft standing there.

“Of course, come right in.” Mycroft gestures him in, stepping back to allow him to come in. He walks ahead of the man, looking behind him every once in a while. “So, was it a busy day, then?”

Greg follows him in the hallway, seemingly relaxing with every step he takes. “Yeah, it was. Dimmock, the arse, screwed up half the crime scene before I even got there. He’s got much to learn.” He pauses, thoughtfully. “But how was your day?” He catches up with Mycroft and lightly touches the small of his back, causing the man to shiver slightly, at which Greg grins.

“The usual, the Ukrainians were on my back the entire day. Though I managed to shake them off,” Mycroft crookedly smiles.

 “Mm, well done, saviour of the world.” Greg stretches out his hand to touch him again but he changes his mind.

Mycroft gently grabs his hand and brushes it with his fingers. “Don’t be afraid.” He gestures at the sofa by the roaring fireplace with his free hand.

“Thank you.” Greg takes off his coat and is about to throw it over the back of the couch, but then gently folds it and places it on chair standing by the desk. Mycroft smiles as he notices this – he hates clutter, but he also likes the mark Greg leaves on his living space when he visits him. He squeezes Greg’s shoulder and says, “no problem. One scotch for you, yes?”

“Please, I’d love that.”

It is one of Greg’s favourite rooms in Mycroft’s impressive _flat_ – although it deserves the name ‘house’, for it is much more formidable than any other flat Greg’s ever laid eyes upon. Bookcases span the wall and there’s a painoforteproudly standing in one corner, although it isn’t overpowering the room.

He gratefully lets himself sink down on the couch while Mycroft pours the both of them a scotch, handing one of the glasses to Greg before sitting down on the sofa himself. “There you go.”

Greg accepts it with a smile and smells it. “Oh, but this is _good_. Cheers, then?” He raises his glass.

“What did you expect?” Mycroft smiles to show he shows no offense, then holds up his glass as well. “To your health.”

“Oh, did I sound surprised?” Greg grins and takes a sip. He toes off his shoes and socks and swings his legs up the sofa, nudging his bare feet against Mycroft’s thigh.

Mycroft pretends to sigh – he has to keep up appearances, doesn’t he? He feels another smile breaking through and asks himself what the hell is going on with him, smiling like a doting idiot.

The ‘doting idiot’ part of Mycroft, which apparently exists, Mycroft notes not entirely satisfies nor unsatisfied, places his free hand just below Greg’s knee and casually asks, “so… do you get any time off? Longer than one evening, I mean.”

Greg can barely suppress a sound escaping his lips as Mycroft _finally_ touches him. He coughs to cover up and says, “I have a couple of days I can get off, yeah.”

He sips before he, suddenly, grows suspicious. “Why, have _you_ got any time off?”

Mycroft takes a big sip before answering. “I do, actually.” He raises his proverbial eyebrow at Greg.

“Oh? That’s a novelty.” He buries his free foot under Mycroft’s thigh, wriggling his toes around. His feet are cold and they absorb Mycroft’s warmth – much to Greg’s pleasure. “When?”

“In about to two weeks. I’ve rarely taken any time off, so I have a lot of vacation-time left, so to speak. I figured, I might use some of it.” Mycroft looks at the other man expectantly.

Greg’s face split into a wide smile, and his eyes start shining. “Great! I mean… _great_! D’you want to go somewhere specific or just laze about at home? Or haven’t you thought about that yet?” He sips his scotch again and then places the tumbler on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

Smiling excitedly, Mycroft replies, “well, is there anywhere you would like to go? I am sure I could… arrange… something.” He strokes Greg’s leg slowly.

“Hmmm—” both a thought and a reaction to the other man’s caress slip from Greg’s lips. He thinks, then suddenly grins. “Before I answer that, you were supposed to help me remember something, right?” He starts leaning forward.

Mycroft’s face flushes a delectable shade of pink and he mutters, very un-Holmesian, incomprehensibly. “I… Err… I…”

Greg takes his glass out of his hands and puts it on the side table, then slips his fingers inside the sleeve of his shirt, tickling the inner part of his wrist. Mycroft leans forward and finally manages to mumble, “I swear to God, you are the only one who can make me giggle like a little school-girl.”

Greg mirrors his movement and puts his other hand on his upper arm, and breathes out, “is that a bad thing?”

“I don’t know. Is it?” Mycroft inhales deeply, ready for what’s to come.

Greg tugs at his tie. “I don’t think so.” He carefully closes the distance between their lips.

Mycroft begins the kiss, breathing in and out through his nose heavily, reaching for the other man’s hair with one hand. Greg deepens the kiss in response, pulling him towards his chest by his tie and his other hand is on Mycroft’s thigh. He feels the man’s fingers brushing through his hair and leans into the hand stroking his side. He pulls back for a breath and stares into Mycroft’s eyes, while feeling a flush of his own creeping up from under his collar.

Mycroft gulps quickly and looks back. “What if my little brother hadn’t been such a nuisance… would we even have met?” He smirks.

Greg groans in response. “Could we not talk about your brother when we’re doing… pleasant things?” He accompanies his words with affectionately running his knuckles over Mycroft’s jaw.

Glad to somewhat have the upper hand again, Mycroft chuckles and rubs the other man’s thigh. “Alright, Gregory.”

He breathes in shakily and presses their noses together, before biting his lower lip. He studies Mycroft’s face, only an inch or two away. “You’re delicious, do you even _know_ that.”

Pausing for a second, he stares back at the grey-haired man. “Well, I… I can say the same about you.”

Greg grins widely. “That’s nice, but you could also just kiss me.”

Mycroft snorts softly. “Are we being a smart-arse now?” He kisses the other man, who quickly pulls back to say, “pot, kettle, black, et cetera,” before continuing the kiss. Mycroft mumbles something, before giving up and going with it.

Greg brushes his lips against the corner of Mycroft’s mouth before leaning back against the sofa. He folds his legs in Mycroft’s lap, then quickly licks his lips. “So, about those days off…”

“Yes?” Mycroft smiles.

“I’d love to get the London air out of my lungs, but I couldn’t be arsed where exactly we go. Maybe the sea’d be nice though.” He digs his heel into the man’s inner thigh and is actually a bit disappointed when Mycroft denies any acknowledgement of that.

“Have you ever been to Greece? I actually happen to own a nice little house there, on a nearly isolated island. We wouldn’t be bothered at all.”

What Mycroft conveniently forgets to mention is that this ‘nice little house’ is actually one of the many British safehouses spread across the world. It’s doubling as a manor on the beach, fully equipped with a team of butlers, cooks and cleaners. He knows Greg wouldn’t approve of that.

Greg drops his hands in his lap and stares at him, opening and closing his mouth a couple of times. He looks ridiculous like that but also adorable, Mycroft wants to tell him but doesn’t feel quite comfortable enough yet doing so.

They’ve only been ‘dating’ for a while now – Mycroft abhors the expression. As far as he’s concerned, he’s in a committed relationship. He doesn’t want, need or desire anything – any _one_ – else in his life except for a certain stubborn Detective Inspector.

Finally, Greg manages to blurt out, “ _of course_ you own a house in Greece, I should have known that. Why am I even surprised.” He shakes his head and when Mycroft doesn’t say anything, he realises he was actually waiting for a response. “But, yeah, that sounds wonderful.”

Mycroft positively beams and takes Greg’s face in his hands. “Greece is wonderful, you’ll love it. Do you like to swim?”

Greg runs his fingers up and down Mycroft’s upper leg. “Yeah, I love swimming.”

“Perfect. I can’t wait to see you in your swimming outfit.” He brushes his thumb over Greg’s cheek.

With a completely straight face, Greg says, “who says you need an outfit for swimming?”

Mycroft is, for a moment, without words, before he detects the mischievous glimmer in the man’s eye. He blushes and looks away, but Greg roars with laughter and squeezes his leg. “Ah, so bashful now. I’m only kidding, twit. Do you swim?”

Mycroft harrumphs, trying to retain his dignity and coolly replies, “well, actually, I love to swim. It’s the reason I own that house in the first place. Well, that and political reasons, naturally.” He leans forward as Greg’s tugging at his tie, allowing him to undo it. He tugs it out of his collar and starts pushing the ridiculously well-tailored suit jacket off of his shoulders.

“Oh? We should go swimming more often then.” Greg rolls his eyes and adds, “somewhere in _England_.”

“Really? That would be nice,” Mycroft smoothly evades his last remark and reaches for Greg’s shirt buttons, playing with them. He swallows, licks his lips and hesitates.

Greg tugs the jacket off his shoulders and arms completely and tosses it on the armrest before he notices something is a bit off. He freezes, his hands on Mycroft’s arms.

Finally, Mycroft speaks. “You know, I’ve never really had conversations like this. This… intimacy. If you’d have told me this would happen two years ago, I’d have had you locked away in a looney bin.”

Greg takes Mycroft’s left hand between his own and brushes his lips over Mycroft’s knuckles. “Are we… Am I… I…” He stutters and Mycroft knows he hates that. “AmImovingtoofast?” Greg eventually blurts out and he goes red and looks away.

Mycroft inhales deeply. “No, I didn’t mean… No.” He shifts positions so that he is again looking Greg in the eyes. “Gregory, look at me. I’ve never been happier than I’ve been with you. And I am not one to gladly admit such a thing. You know that.” _Because caring has never been, and never will be, an advantage._

Despite himself, Mycroft manages a small smile.

Greg looks down before looking him in the eyes, a bit fearful. “Really? I… I…” He swallows before he manages to continue. “I’ve never been happier too. And I know that,” he adds, “thank you.” He looks down again, focused on interlacing his own fingers with Mycroft’s.

Mycroft closes his eyes for a moment, enjoying the touch, before pulling Greg closer, letting Greg’s head rest just underneath his chin. He inhales his scent and asks, now that his cards are on the table anyway, “will you stay the night with me, here?”

Greg was just settling against the man’s chest, but he is baffled once again. This, to Greg’s taste, happens too often when he’s around Mycroft.

Pulling away suddenly, Mycroft mutters, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean it like that.” He’s turning away from the other man, his whole body shivering. “Never mind it.”

“No, no, M—Mycroft,” Greg is inwardly cursing his _bloody fucking_ stutter, “it just came unexpected.” He gently places a hand at the side of Mycroft’s face. “Mycroft? Look at me?”

Mycroft eventually locks their gaze, slightly relieved but not completely convinced. “I thought it might be… nice. We could eat breakfast together and…” He’s not quite certain what else. He hadn’t completely thought it through, and _there you have it_ , he thinks sourly.

Greg breathes in deeply to calm his nerves, closes his eyes for a second and then places a kiss on the man’s nose. “It _is_ nice. We could do… regular-couple-stuff.” He smiles a crooked smile.

“Yes, my thoughts exactly. If we can be called that.” Mycroft finally relaxes.

“Sorry for reacting like a blither idiot, by the way, as the Holmeses can so nicely put it.”

“No, you’re only slightly an idiot. But don’t be offended, actually, because everybody is.” He smiles to show he’s joking and Greg grins back softly – _none taken_.

It occurs to Mycroft that they’re having these misunderstandings quite often – too often. They’re standing in the way of complete trust and assurance, things which a relationship, Mycroft understands, cannot do without. They’ll have to figure out a way to stop misreading the other.

Then Greg snorts, breaking through his thoughts, and glances at Mycroft. “Well, clearly we’re not a normal couple, because we are the most handsome and smartest couple in the world. Up to you to figure out who’s contributing to which part.”

Mycroft gently pats his hair. “Obviously I’m the handsome one. I’m drop dead gorgeous.” He plants a quick kiss on Greg’s lips.

“Cheeky bastard.” He places his hands on Mycroft’s chest and says, in between kisses. “Although you – are – bloody – gorgeous.”

“I—” He doesn’t get to speak with Greg kissing him, so he decides to shut up and tickle Greg’s neck.

The grey-haired man hums into it before drawing back to savour the sight and starts to undo the top button of Mycroft’s vest. “Bloody three-piece suits,” he says with a wry grin on his face.

Mycroft actually chuckles. “Are you having trouble with my choice of clothing there, Gregory?” He playfully nudges him slightly in his side, at which Greg startles.

“Err, well, both yes and no actually. I do _now_.”

Mycroft brushes the top of the other man’s hands. “Let me help you with that.” He starts unbuttoning his vest from the bottom button. Greg lets him and as soon as it’s undone, he shoves it over his shoulders and off and pulls Mycroft’s shirt from under the waistband of his trousers, but then pauses. “Mycroft, if…” he pauses to choose his words carefully, “ _as soon as_ I… overstep a boundary… will you tell me?”

Smiling at him, Mycroft reassures him, “of course I will. I trust you.”

Greg visibly delights in his words and Mycroft asks, “now, will you kindly let me take that jacket off of you?”

Broadly grinning, Greg opens his arms wide. “Good. And you’re more than welcome.”

Mycroft reaches for his jacket, forcefully yanking it off, admiring the way Greg’s muscles flex under the fabric of the flattering shirt he’s wearing. However, he simply cannot resist neatly folding it and placing it on the carpet beside the sofa, just to see Greg growing impatient.

And surely, Greg pulls him half into his lap and starts unbuttoning Mycroft’s shirt from the bottom, pausing halfway to slide his hand under and around to his back, his other hand on the side of his face. He trails his fingers down the man’s spine before carefully, gently kissing him.

Mycroft’s body is buzzing from the way Greg’s touching him – a feeling he hasn’t quite grown used to yet. It’s so… illogical and yet so… _extremely_ enjoyable. He pulls back to say, “we should do this more often,” before hungrily plunging back into the kiss, crushing their lips together

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed! As always, feedback and/or (constructive) criticism is *very* welcome!


End file.
